


A Town Called Miracle

by FrancesOsgood



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consent Issues, Dark Comedy, Dramedy, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Miscarriage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesOsgood/pseuds/FrancesOsgood
Summary: While on mission to destroy humanity, Jareth gets stuck in the small coastal town of Miracle, Oregon. Cut off from the Fae realm, he must blend in with the townspeople until he can locate his lost Doomsday device and annihilate the human race.Can Sarah Williams and the good people of Miracle convince Jareth that humans aren't really as bad as he thinks?*Inspired by "Resident Alien"
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Comments: 31
Kudos: 25





	1. It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> While this story takes its premise and a few characters and situations from the television show, "Resident Alien," it will not mirror the show. It will follow its own path with some brief crossovers in material here and there. No need to watch the show in order to follow this story, but you should definitely watch the show because it's charming and hilarious.

The mission was simple. Fly in, activate the device, fly home. Simple. At least, in theory. Unfortunately, no one in the entire Fae assembly had the foresight to check the weather forecast for the Above for that particular night. Which led me to where I am now. Trapped. Above. With _them._ The humans. 

As a race of creatures, they’ve mostly been tolerated over the centuries. Beings such as myself tend to think of them as squirrels, ridiculous, chattering pests who dart here and there and make a general nuisance of themselves. Their ignorance made them almost endearing at times, but they were never considered the kind of creature to take home and keep as a pet. 

In recent years though, humanity has become more of a danger than a nuisance. They have become loud, obnoxious, and utterly destructive. They’ve filled every nook and cranny of the Above with rubbish and they seem absolutely intent on destroying one another. We, the Fae, had considered sitting back and allowing them to do just that, but we feared the collateral damage would be too great. They had the potential to destroy the whole planet (and us!) in their thirst for conquest and love of war. So, we collectively decided to get involved. 

I was tasked with placing and activating the device. It was my design after all, and I alone knew how to accurately wield it. Samhain was chosen as Zero Hour since the Veil would be at its thinnest. (We had strengthened it even further to keep the human vermin out of our realm.) The Veil would remain open through sunset, giving me plenty of time to place the device, activate it, and then make a quick exit. 

None of us had counted on the freak storm that blew in that evening, pelting me with hail and twisting me in the wild wind as I flew in my owl form over the ever-darkening landscape. The weather was so wicked that I could barely see my wing in front of my face. I was thoroughly exhausted when I finally found shelter in a large, hollow oak. Clutching the device in my talons, I sat in the relative cover of the huge tree to wait out the storm. Unfortunately, large trees are excellent conductors for lightning. 

I heard the crack and felt every feather on my body stand up before the great oak exploded around me. In a flash of blue light I was hurled into the raging sky and tossed about like a ship in a squall. I tried to hold on to the device, but I was no match for the wind and it was wrenched from my grasp, disappearing into the dark torrent. The gale caught beneath my flapping wings, lifting me upward and sending me reeling. 

“Well, fuck,” was my last thought before I crashed headlong into something cold and hard and the world around me went black. 

* * *

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice seemed to echo in my pounding head as I fought to open my eyes. I felt something nudge my arm, sending jolts of whitehot pain through my body. 

“Owww,” I moaned. 

“Oh, thank god. You’re not dead,” the voice sighed above me. I finally managed to open my eyes and squinted up at the owner of the voice. A human. A female human. Just great. 

“Do you need some help?” the female asked. She didn’t wait for me to answer, but squatted down beside me and began poking and prodding at my person. Her eyes and hands on me were more than a little unnerving and I, wincing, shrugged away.

“It’s okay,” she told me. “I have some medical training. I’m just checking to make sure nothing’s broken before you try to move.” 

“I assure you,” I finally managed to reply, though my voice sounded like broken glass, “I am perfectly fine.”

I swatted her hand away and pulled myself upright just to prove my point, but ended up flat on my back again due to my spinning head and the faint buzz of electricity still humming through my body. 

“Are you sure about that?” the female asked. “‘Cause you look like hell.”

I groaned and rubbed my temples. “I got caught in the storm.”

“You look like you must have been coming back from a Halloween party judging by your costume, which is amazing, by the way. Too bad it looks ruined. I hope it wasn’t rented.”

_Halloween? Costume? What the-?_ I searched my memory for what I knew of humans and bristled at the thought. Halloween. The human answer to our sacred celebration of Samhain. A night for humans to dress up as monsters or fictional characters or sexy law enforcement officers and go about begging for chocolate. As if the whole squirrely race needed more sugar. 

As for the remark about my attire being a costume, that was typical of human ignorance. I was dressed as one would when one is a Fae king on an important nocturnal mission. I wore black from head to toe: black breeches with black knee-high boots, black tunic overlaid with a black leather torso piece, black gloves, and a high-collared black cape covering the ensemble. 

Upon closer inspection of my garments, I noticed that the female was correct about one thing: sopping wet and riddled with tears from my violent crash, my clothing was in sorry shape. I no doubt looked like I had passed out in the storm after a night of drunken revelry. No wonder the female was looking down at me with an expression of pity and concern. Pathetic. 

I finally managed to get myself up into a sitting position, which brought me face to face with the human female, giving me a better look at her features. She was surprisingly pleasant-looking, for a human anyway. Humans tend to look rather dull on the whole: mousy hair, pale eyes, mottled skin. This female’s coloring seemed remarkably vivid, from her raven hair to her deep green eyes. Her skin was milk-white except for a smattering of tiny freckles sprinkled over her nose and across her cheeks. She smiled at me, revealing pearly teeth behind her rosy lips. 

“Must have been a good party, huh?” she said, with a wink. 

“Party?” I asked.

“Nevermind,” she said, shaking her head and standing to her feet. She leaned down and extended a hand to me. “If you think you can stand I can take you down to the clinic to get properly checked out. Hangovers can be brutal. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

“Hmph!” I grunted as I scrambled to my feet and attempted to wring out my waterlogged cape, sending a stream of dirty water splashing over my boots. “I think I’ve been thoroughly hydrated.”

The female seemed to find that humorous. Her laugh was lovely, which I found remarkable. It was very unlike the coarse guffaws or high-pitched giggles I was accustomed to hearing issuing from humans. It was light, breathy, gentle. I rather liked it. 

“I’m Sarah, by the way,” she told me, offering her hand once again. This time I took it in mine. Water squished from my sodden gloves as she shook my hand and she laughed again. 

“I’m… uh, Jareth,” I told her. 

“Well, Jareth. If you won’t go to the clinic, you should at least get into some dry clothes. Is there someone I can call for you? You’re obviously not from around here.” The girl pulled a cellular device from her pocket and looked at me expectantly. 

It was at that moment that I came to the startling realization that I was in trouble. Big trouble. It was morning. Which meant Samhain was over. Which meant the Veil was closed. Which meant I was trapped Above until it opened again. In twelve bloody _months_! And worse, I hadn’t even completed my mission. I still had to activate the device and annihilate all the ridiculous humans. 

_Where even is the device?_

I looked around frantically, searching the area where I had crash landed, but the device was nowhere in sight. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” the female asked. “Did you lose something?” 

“Stupid squirrels,” I muttered under my breath. 

“What?” asked the girl.

“Nothing,” I snapped. The girl frowned and I schooled my expression into a nonchalant smile. “It’s fine,” I cooed, splaying my gloved hands in front of me. “I’m just going to be on my way. Thank you for your assistance, Susie.”

“Sarah,” she corrected.

“Whatever.” 

The girl’s frown deepened. “You’re welcome,” she sighed. She turned on her heel and began to walk away, mumbling to herself. My hearing, normally quite keen, had been temporarily dampened by the loud blast of the lightning strike and subsequent explosion of the tree and I failed to pick up on what she was saying. No matter though. The ramblings of humans were rarely of any substance or importance. 

I had bigger matters to attend to. Namely finding my device and activating it. I also had to figure out how to get back home and out of the realm of the infuriating humans. I wondered if any of my kind were looking for me. No doubt my failure to return had aroused concern, if not for my well-being, for the success of the mission. If success could not be confirmed, they would surely attempt to investigate. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. This was just a temporary set-back. The device would not be hard to locate and my rescue was as good as assured. While my own power was insufficient to open the Veil myself from the human realm, the power of the Fae Assembly could do it from theirs. I would most likely be at home in my castle kicking chickens and bogging goblins by the end of the day, having rid Earth Above and Below of its infestation of humans. Of course, in the meantime I would have to go about as one of them. I looked down at my tattered garments and rain-soaked boots and sighed. This wouldn’t do. 

I slipped quietly into a cover of trees and began to weave a spell around myself. If I were going to blend in with the humans I had to look like one of them. My dark attire melted away and was replaced with an outfit more attuned to human tastes: khaki trousers and a woolen sweater. On my feet, a pair of plain but sturdy boots. To keep out the Autumn chill, a long black trench coat. 

I stepped out of the grove of trees and back out into the open street and looked around. The girl was nowhere to be seen, but other humans had emerged from buildings and were picking up fallen branches and clearing out debris left by the storm the night before. The action surprised me, as I had not thought humans to be even remotely fastidious regarding keeping things tidy. 

I shrugged and moved on, taking note of a weathered sign bearing the words “Welcome to Miracle, Oregon” and declaring the town to be the “Gem of the Pacific Northwest.” Said town was little more than a main street lined with shops and businesses. There were a few side streets that appeared to consist mainly of residences, old historic homes that had likely been there for generations. Other than that, there wasn’t much to see. 

_“You aren’t here to sight-see,”_ I told myself as I walked past old brick buildings marked “Bank” and “Police Station'' and “Clinic.” I had my mission and as soon as I could locate the device I could finish what I came to do. 

I paused in front of one of the buildings and examined my reflection in its storefront window. I made a passable human. Of course, I’d had to glamour over my Fae features, softening the angular lines of my face, rounding the sharp points of my ears and teeth and fading the coloring over my eyes that marked me as Royal and Elite. It was a small price to pay to be able to wipe the puny creatures out of existence. And I would only have to wear the disguise for a few human hours.

I chuckled to myself. This time tomorrow my mission would be complete and the humans would be extinct. I would return to my realm a hero. I could hardly wait. 

Too bad that was three months ago. 

* * *

  
  



	2. Is There a Doctor in the House?

Dimensional magic is a fascinating field and just happens to be my area of expertise. Most Fae with magical abilities can alter reality to some extent, but I am able to bend the fabric of Time and Space to fit my needs and whims. Of course, this was acquired after several millennia of intense study and diligent practice. It was well worth the effort. My kingdom, the Goblin Kingdom, is renowned as a place of warped reality, misdirection and altered perception. A person may _think_ they are climbing an ascending staircase only to find themselves headed downward or sideways. The great Labyrinth ringing my castle and acting as a barrier between my subjects and would-be invaders is replete with illusions and spatial anomalies. Shifting paths, seemingly endless passageways and deceptive doors lead anyone within its walls on a maddening journey deeper and deeper, yet farther and farther from their goal. 

My greatest skill, however, lies in spatial manipulation. I can nestle enormous amounts of magical energy within very small objects. The humans may boast of their atomic bomb, but I have the ability to create an even greater level of destruction, and with a much narrower and specific focus. The device I had created to annihilate the humans was a very small orb, a tiny scrap of ore from a meteor the shape and size of a marble. However, I had imbued it with enough magical energy to wipe every human off the face of the earth. Plants and animals would not be harmed in the slightest, but humanity would be eradicated. While the parameters of the device were set to be very specific, there was still a slight danger posed to me should the device activate while I was still in the human realm. It was crucial for me to find the device as soon as possible. 

I was understandably upset then, that first blustery day in the tiny town of Miracle, when upon magically sensing the location of the device, I set out to find where it had landed only to discover that it was no longer there. The trail of footprints left in the muddy slush around the area took me on an infuriating ramble back and forth through the thick forest until it faded and disappeared completely under a new covering of snow. The magical signature of the device faded with the trail and I could no longer sense it. Enraged, I stomped back toward the town, cursing under my breath and even more determined to exterminate every last human.

Which brings me to today, February 4th. I have reluctantly settled in Miracle, having set myself up in a relatively comfortable cabin situated on a forested coast far from the infuriating inhabitants of the town. I rarely see anyone, save the delivery guy from the local sandwich shop. My physical needs are met. Human currency is simple to conjure, and while I’m probably adding to inflation by magicking up large quantities of American cash, I figure it doesn’t really matter. The humans infesting this land will all be dead soon anyway. Besides, the American economy is already shit. 

I had cloistered myself away in my forest cabin for the better part of three months while I tried to put together a course of action to find and reclaim my device. I read all of the books on the shelves. Most of them seemed to be aimed at tourists staying in the rental, detailing the so-called “rich history of the area” and describing local landmarks and “must-see features.” There was a book about local legends and folklore that was mildly entertaining. I was somewhat intrigued by the stories of the spirits of indigenous peoples as well as the restless souls of martyred witches that are believed to haunt the forests that line the coast and surround the town. 

Having read all of the books, I turned my attention to the television. I was familiar with the phenomenon that was human entertainment: insipid dramas, reality shows that were far from real, game shows and sit-coms. They all left me cold. Still, I had nothing better to do, so I found myself getting pulled into a number of absurd programs. One in particular got my wheels turning. The show centered around a rather crotchety doctor with a substance abuse problem and the many bizarre medical cases brought into the hospital in which he was employed. While other medical professionals would be stumped by the patient’s ailments, the drug-addled doctor always managed to find a solution and cure, oftentimes mere moments away from the patient dying. 

As laughable as the premise of the show was, I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the level of intimacy granted to the disagreeable doctor simply by virtue of his profession. He was able to ask incredibly personal questions of his patients and, while not always truthful, they didn’t flinch at his familiarity. The doctor was also afforded close physical contact with patients, going so far as to be able to see them without their clothing and exam orifices that would be off limits to anyone else. 

This made me consider my situation differently. Rather than hermiting away in my cabin, perhaps getting up close and personal with the humans would be a better way to locate my device. If I were a doctor, I could ask personal questions of the townspeople and even poke around on their bodies without arousing suspicion. I would certainly have no trouble playing the part; human anatomy was absurdly uncomplicated. 

It was clear to me that my Fae kinsmen were in no rush to come to my aid, though I understood their reasoning. As far as they knew, destruction was imminent. They could hardly be expected to put the Fae realm at risk by opening the Veil even a little. It was up to me alone to see the mission through and get myself back home, but thanks to my little television epiphany, I now had a plan of action.

* * *

The mayor of Miracle nearly choked on his salami on rye when I told him why I was there.

“A doctor?!” he managed to sputter when he finally stopped wheezing. 

“Yes,” I replied, flicking off a few stray crumbs of rye that he’d hacked all over my leather jacket. “I’ve only been in town a short while, but now that I’m settled I thought I would offer my services.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said the mayor, shaking his balding head. “This is some luck!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I told him.

“There’s not a doctor that lives here in Miracle,” he explained. “Not since old Dr. O’Connor kicked the bucket several years ago. We’ve had a doctor driving in from Salem a few times a month, but that last snowstorm we had cut off part of the road between there and here. He won’t be able to get back to town until the snow melts off.”

“So… my services are greatly needed.” I didn’t phrase it as a question. There was no doubt on my part.

“Most definitely,” the mayor confirmed. “Of course, I’ll need to see proper credentials before I set you up in the clinic.”

“Of course,” I answered with a smile. Credentials were child’s play. 

The mayor offered a meaty hand. “Well then, welcome to Miracle, Dr…” He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to supply my name. Obviously addled by my crash, I had stupidly given the female my true name my first day in town. However, until that moment I had not even considered a surname. I thought of all the doctor names I had heard on television: House, McCoy, Who, Fleischman… I couldn’t use any of those without appearing suspicious. 

“Jones,” I said at last, deciding the name sounded sufficiently unassuming. “My name is Dr. Jareth Jones.”

“I’m Robert Williams,” said the mayor, vigorously shaking my hand. “But feel free to call me Bob. Mind if I call you J.J.?”

“Jareth will do,” I told him, extricating my hand from his grip. Perhaps I should have held on to his hand since he then proceeded to smack me hard on the back.

“The folks in Miracle sure are going to be happy about this,” he proclaimed. “They’ve been badgering me to get a new town doctor ever since O’Connor croaked. Honestly, I tried. There just aren’t many professional types who want to settle in a small town like this. What brings _you_ here anyway?”

“Circumstance,” I replied with a grimace.

The mayor laughed and smacked me across the back again and I made a note to put him on my list of humans to kill first, just above whoever designed those creepy inflatable tube-men that wave from car lots, but a few spaces down from the Kardashians. 

“Your circumstance is our good fortune, Doc,” he chuckled, moving toward a coat rack and throwing on a thick parka. “It’s almost noon. Why don’t we head over to the diner and grab some lunch? I’ll even pick up the tab.”

“That’s very kind, but I must decline,” I told him. “I need to--” I was interrupted by a pale, blonde woman in a lavender pantsuit barging into the mayor’s office dragging a young boy along behind her.

“Robert!,” she snapped, completely ignoring my presence, “I need you to look after Toby while I get my nails done. I asked your daughter to babysit, but as usual she said she doesn’t have time.”

“Irene--” the mayor tried to answer but the woman chattered on.

“Toby hates the nail salon and I have nothing else to do with him and I simply must get my nails done today.” She dragged out the final word in a nasally whine that made my teeth hurt and my ass clench. 

“Irene, I’m in the middle of an important meeting,” the mayor was finally able to reply. He gestured toward me. “This is the new town doctor, Dr. Jareth Jones.”

“It’s about time you got one,” she said after giving me a quick sideways glance. “Mrs. Edelmann and the rest of the town council have been asking for one for ages and that quack from Salem was hardly a long-term solution…”

The woman blustered on and I tuned her out, turning my attention instead toward the young boy at her side. He was completely engaged in his handheld device, from which noises of gunfire and explosions were issuing, and had not looked up from the screen since being yanked into the office by his mother. I couldn’t fault the poor fellow for choosing to focus on his game rather than that shrill Harpy. 

“Besides,” Irene’s voice cut through my musings, “Toby is overdue for a check-up.” She looked back at me and put her hands on her hips. “Just as long as you don’t try to fill him full of unnecessary vaccines or other pseudoscientific treatments.” 

“I--” I started to reply, but at that moment the young boy looked up from his game and followed his mother’s gaze. As his eyes landed on me, they went wide and the color drained from his face. There was a moment of deafening silence before the boy let out such a high-pitched screech that I was certain he was going to shatter the glass in the windows. Dropping his game, he turned and fled from the office, but not before delivering a swift kick to my right shin. 

“The _fuck?_ ” I cursed, bending down to rub my aching leg. 

“Are you okay?” the mayor asked as he rushed to my side. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I have no idea why he would act like that.” 

“It’s fine,” I answered through gritted teeth. But it wasn’t fine. I knew why the boy had reacted the way he did. Somehow, he could see through my glamour. He knew who and what I really was. This was not good.

Seemingly nonplussed by the whole scene, Irene looked at her watch and scowled. “I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for my appointment.”

“What?” asked her husband. “You’re leaving? What about Toby?”

Irene waved him off. “Unless you can coax your daughter into lifting a finger, you’ll just have to go after him and keep him entertained.” 

My skin crawled at the way she said “your daughter” as if it were something distasteful. 

“She’s got her hands full at the clinic, dear. You know that,” said the mayor. 

“Yes well, now that you’ve found us a doctor, she won’t have _that_ as an excuse,” Irene called over her shoulder as she bustled out the door. 

Robert Williams turned to me and sighed. “Are you married, Doc?” he asked. 

“No,” I replied.

He muttered something that sounded like “lucky bastard” but covered it by excusing himself to chase after his son. I hobbled after him as he left his office building and scurried down the sidewalk to where the boy had crawled under one of the decorative benches. My eyes narrowed to slits watching the pudgy, balding man attempting to coax his wayward child out of hiding with promises of ice cream. 

Device or no device, I had a new Public Enemy Number One. I mentally moved Donald Trump out of the top spot on my kill list. The boy could see my true form and was therefore the greatest danger to the success of my mission. I didn’t know how he was able to see past my glamour, but _how_ didn’t matter. He could see and expose me and I could not allow that to happen. 

Toby Williams had to die.

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The television show Jareth is referring to is "House M.D."  
> Jareth's chosen surname is, of course, an homage to our own dear David Jones. I also love the thought of people calling him J.J.  
> I've chosen to go with the name Irene for Sarah's stepmother rather than Karen. Ironically, Irene is the embodiment of the "Karen" stereotype, anti-vax and all.  
> Sarah makes another appearance in the next chapter, so there will be lots of J/S interaction and witty banter. Don't nope out on me just yet.  
> ~Fanny~


	3. Open Up and Say "AGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

Practicing medicine was easy to the point of being boring. The patients came in and I listened to their complaints and then I told them to get more sleep or more exercise or less high-fructose corn syrup. Like willing sheep they accepted my suggestions and had no problem answering my questions: Do you ever go for walks in the woods? Have you ever picked up anything from the forest floor that made your skin turn yellow and caused a burning sensation when you urinate? Do you ever see things like ghosts or aliens or members of the Fae monarchy?

A few patients asked what such questions had to do with their acid reflux or clogged nasal passages and I just pointed to the framed medical degree on the wall (I conjured myself an MD from Johns Hopkins University) and that seemed to be answer enough. 

Even with my probing questions, I had so far been unable to learn much of anything of importance from the endless parade of patients. It was beyond frustrating. Especially when the young orderly informed me that I had only been there for three hours. 

“By the way, Sarah’s on her way in,” said the orderly.

I looked at her, confused. “Sarah?” I asked.

“Sarah Bradford. Your medical assistant?” she replied, rolling her eyes as if I had asked a truly ridiculous question.

“I have no need of assistance,” I snapped back. “I’m perfectly capable of handling these patients on my own.”

“Whatever,” the orderly sighed. 

I was about to give the surly young woman a rather detailed description of the way in which I planned to murder her (slow, painful dismemberment) when the exam room curtains were whisked back and a woman in bright green scrubs walked in. I immediately recognized her as the human female who had found me sprawled out in the mud like a common vagabond. 

_ This is some bullshit. _

The woman looked up from her clipboard and started to smile and I was hopeful that she didn’t recognize me under my glamour. However, the smile quickly turned into a confused scowl and she looked down at her clipboard and then back up at me.

“ _ You’re  _ Dr. Jones?” she asked.

“Why, yes,” I answered, clearing my throat. “I take it you are my assistant.”

“I’m Sarah, yes,” she replied, still obviously confused. “How can  _ you _ be Dr. Jones?”

‘What do you mean?” I asked. “I am Dr. Jareth Jones. That’s my name up there on the wall…” I gestured toward my framed “degree.”

“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “I mean, the last time I saw you, you were drunk and passed out face down in the park.”

“I wasn’t face down,” I snapped and she cocked an eyebrow. “And I wasn’t drunk,” I quickly added.

“What were you doing then?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip. “You sure as hell looked like you’d been on a bender to me. Hardly the behavior of a medical professional.”

“Why does it matter to you?” I countered. “What I do in my free time has little effect on my skills as a doctor.”

She glowered at me, unconvinced, and I continued. “What do you know anyway? You’re just a medical assistant. Being a  _ real  _ doctor is very stressful. Perhaps I need to blow off steam every now and then.” 

“Fine,” she said, shaking her head. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders and I was surprised once again by her vivid coloring. At our initial meeting, I had attributed her brightness to the head injury I had sustained in my crash. However, months later, her eyes were still as brilliant green, her hair just as richly black, her skin still as creamy. Either I was still suffering the effects of a concussion, or she was abnormally lustrous for a human. 

“We’re too backed up to stand around arguing,” she said, bringing me out of my ponderings. “If you say you’re a doctor, great. We need a doctor. I’ve been trying to manage this place on my own for the past week since the doctor from Salem got snowed out.” 

She handed me a file. 

“I’m sending in your next patient,” she told me. “He’s nine and needs a check-up. Can you handle that?”

“Of course I can,” I barked. 

I could tell by her expression that she still wasn’t fully persuaded, but she didn’t argue. She turned on her heel and swept out of the exam room and I could hear her talking to someone in the hall.

“It’s fine,” I heard her say. “It’s just a check-up. Just let the doctor look you over and then your mom will take you to get a new game, okay?”

I didn’t hear the response as the exam room curtain was pushed back again and I found myself looking down at the sticky little face of Toby Williams.

_ Yep. Definitely some bullshit. _

* * *

The voice of Irene Wiiliams was unmistakable, even from down the hall and behind the closed door of my office. 

“I am holding you responsible for this, Sarah,” the older woman ranted. “If you hadn’t filled his head full of stories of dwarves and monsters…”

“Toby loves those stories, Irene. He’s never had any problem before.”

“Well, he’s having a problem now!” Irene snarled and I could picture her stomping her little kitten-heeled foot. “Do you realize how embarrassing it is for me to have my son running down the street screaming about how the new doctor is the Goblin King?”

“Right,” drawled Sarah. “‘Cause this is all about  _ you. _ ”

“That is not what I meant, young lady and you know it!”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”

I had finally had enough and stomped down the hall to where the two females stood facing off in the breakroom.

“Ladies,” I snapped. “Do you mind? I’m trying to be a doctor.” 

Sarah looked up at me and I was taken aback by the change in her countenance. Her fair cheeks were flushed pink and her green eyes flashed fire. As lovely as she was in a more relaxed state, she was simply radiant when she was angry. It gave me tingles in the pit of my stomach as well as regions further south. 

“Im sorry, Doctor,” she said with a sigh. “I’m going to step out for a moment and get some air.”

I nodded and she exited the breakroom, leaving me alone with Irene Williams. The older woman smiled at me, a too-bright smile that made her look like a snake who had just cornered its dinner.

“Dr. Jones,” she purred. “I hope you don’t think ill of me for losing my temper with Sarah. I’m naturally quite protective of my son. Toby is very impressionable and I’m afraid she’s filled his head with a lot of nonsense.”

“Think nothing of it, Mrs Williams,” I told her, choking back bile. “Children often have irrational fears, especially of doctors. I’m a stranger to young Toby. It’s normal for him to be a little nervous.”

Irene gave a little practiced laugh. “If by ‘nervous’ you mean screaming bloody murder and running out in the street, I’ll give you credit for generosity,” she told me. “I just hope you aren’t offended by all that Goblin King business.”

“Of course not,” I answered, adjusting my collar which had suddenly become very tight. Of course I wasn’t offended. Why would I be offended? I was enraged. That little shit not only knew I wasn’t human, he knew I was the king of the goblins! How could he possibly know that? Irene had said that Sarah had told him stories. Had  _ she  _ told Toby who I was? She couldn’t have. Sarah had seen me in my true form and had thought it was merely a costume. How was that boy able to see the truth?

“Perhaps we can try again later after Toby calms down a bit,” Irene was saying. “I’ll have his father talk to him.”

“Yes, do that,” I told her. She smiled her snakey smile at me again and I excused myself to my office, letting the orderly see her to the door. 

I was still tucked away in there half an hour later when there was a somewhat reluctant knock at my door. 

“Yes?” I called. The door opened and Sarah walked in.

“I-- I just want to apologize. For everything today,” she began. “It’s your first day and I was disagreeable and unprofessional. I’m sorry.”

I leaned back in my desk chair and studied her for a moment. She was outwardly contrite, but I could still see the hard gleam in her eye and I almost smirked with admiration. She may have been sorry that her actions caused trouble, but she still felt she was justified. Beguiling creature. 

“Apology accepted,” I told her at last. “I imagine things have been more than a little stressful around here lately.”

Sarah shook her head and flopped down into the chair in front of my desk. “It’s not just the clinic,” she said. “Irene had been on my case before I even came in this morning. She wanted to make sure Toby wouldn’t be given any injections or vaccinations and would not let me hear the end of it.”

“Why on earth would she not want such a thing for her child?” I asked. 

“Irene is against vaccinations,” she told me. “When Toby was born we went round and round about it. I didn’t like the idea of him being unprotected against preventable diseases. I finally convinced her to get him vaccinated.” Sarah paused and I could tell by the look of melancholy that came over her face that her story was about to take an ominous turn.

“A few years ago, Toby was diagnosed with ADHD and Autism. Irene blamed the vaccines.”

“And you, I take it?” I asked her.

“Yep,” she replied, looking up at the popcorn ceiling. “And Dr. O’Connor, since he was the one who administered the vaccines. Irene gathered a bunch of what she called evidence that supported her claim. It was the most ridiculous load of unscientific bullshit, but she stood by it and threatened to sue poor old Dr. O’Connor. Lucky for him though, he had a stroke and died before she got the chance. Irene probably would have sued me too, if my dad hadn’t intervened.”

“Your dad?”

“You met him the other day. Robert Williams.”

I sat upright in my chair. “Your dad is the mayor?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Sarah answered.

“That means Toby is your brother,” I noted.

“Technically, he’s my half-brother, but I’ve never really made that an issue.”

“Irene is not your mother?”

“Thank god, no,” Sarah answered with a laugh. “She’s just my evil step-mother. My mom died when I was just a kid.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure how else to respond. Several quiet moments passed before Sarah spoke again. 

“Look,” she began, “I think Toby’s meltdown freaked out the other patients waiting and they all left. Do you want to go next door and get a drink? I sure could use one.”

I looked at my phone. “It’s not even noon,” I told her. 

“So we’ll call it brunch,” she said, running a hand through her long, dark hair. “I’m buying. Are you coming or not?”

“Sure,” I heard myself answer. Sarah smiled, and after removing my white medical coat and putting on my leather jacket, I followed her out the door. Sarah yelled something over her shoulder to the orderly about going to Constance Fisher’s to which the orderly just shrugged. 

_Constance Fisher’s_ , as I soon discovered, was the local watering hole. It was little more than a run-down dive, but its sign said it served alcohol twenty-four hours a day. The interior was dark despite the midday sun, and the walls were decorated with an assortment of odd memorabilia and objects. Black pointed hats hung from the ceiling and a gnarled wooden broom hung over the bar. I suddenly remembered where I had heard the name Constance Fisher before.

“Sarah,” I said as we seated ourselves at the bar, “Is this place named for the Constance Fisher who was hanged as a witch?”

“How do you know about that?” Sarah asked, obviously surprised. 

“I read about it in a book about Miracle,” I told her. “I found the account rather interesting, though tragic.”

“Yes, well, don’t believe everything you read,” Sarah answered glumly. She called out to the barkeeper before I could question her further. 

“You’re new,” said the barkeeper, a relatively attractive woman with unnaturally red hair who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. 

“Mitz, this is Dr. Jareth Jones,” Sarah said, motioning to me. “He’s come to save us from the Salem Voodoo doctor.” 

“Well, Doctor,” the barkeeper said with a flirtatious smile, “I will be making an appointment right away. I am in desperate need of a thorough going-over.” 

“Down girl,” Sarah told her. “Doctor Jones and I have had a bit of a rough day. We just need a stiff drink.”

The barkeeper leaned over the bar toward me and winked. “Well, I need a stiff--”

“Mitz!” cried Sarah. “Will you please stop sexually assaulting my employer and just get us a couple of drinks?”

“Fine,” said the woman, pulling down two glasses from a shelf and setting them down on the bar with a thunk. “What’ll it be?”

“The local,” Sarah told her. 

“You can call me Jareth,” I said to Sarah when the barkeeper moved away to pour our drinks. 

“Oh. Ok, thanks,” she answered. “Don’t pay any attention to Mitzi. When she’s not serving up booze, she’s banging anything on two legs.”

“Noted,” I said.

Mitzi-the-libertine-barkeeper returned with our drinks but made no further advances, instead stepping back into a corner to watch us from the shadows. Sarah picked up her glass and raised it.

“Let’s make a toast,” she said. “What shall we drink to?”

“Let’s drink to Constance,” I replied, raising my glass.

“Really?” Sarah asked, her distaste apparent. 

“I’m new,” I told her. “Humor me.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug. “To Constance.”

“To Constance,” I echoed before clinking my glass against hers. 

A strange procession of thoughts ran through my head in the few seconds between our toast and the moment I took my first swallow of the local whiskey. I thought first of Constance Fisher, standing in the face of her accusers and instead of begging for mercy brazenly cursing the whole lot of them. I thought of Sarah, fighting for the safety of a child who was only a half-sibling. Going against the likes of Irene Williams to make sure the boy was protected. Perhaps the other Fae and I had judged the humans too harshly. A _ few _ of them had some redeeming qualities.

Of course, all that went out the window the moment the liquid landed on my tongue. It was awful. Worse than awful. It was criminally horrible. It tasted as if someone had drunk a cocktail of battery acid and castor oil and then pissed into a whiskey bottle. 

“Good stuff, isn’t it?” sneered Mitzi from her dark corner as I coughed and sputtered. 

_ “Oh yes,” _ I thought. “ _ I’m going to kill every last one of these fuckers.” _

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lengthened the age difference between Sarah and Toby for this story. In the original story there was roughly a 15 years age difference, but I've stretched that to about 20 years. Purely for plot-related reasons.   
> Sarah's surname will be addressed in the next chapter.   
> Any thoughts on how Toby is able to see Jareth's true identity? Let me know your thoughts and theories in the comments!


	4. Bedknobs and Broomsticks

I must have spent several hours at  _ Constance Fisher’s  _ because when I finally staggered out of the bar, night had fallen. Sarah trailed along beside me, happily two-stepping down the sidewalk and humming a snippet of some popular tune that had played on the jukebox.

_ “What a girl wants, what a girl needs. Whatever makes me happy sets you free…”  _

She paused in her singing and looked up at me. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” she asked.

“Of course, I am,” I mumbled. “I just have to find my truck.” I looked at the row of blurry vehicles lining the street and blinked hard, willing my eyes to focus. 

“I think you’re probably parked at the clinic, right?”

Of course. I had driven to the clinic. Poked around on the humans. Then Sarah and I had walked to the bar. Where I had then proceeded to drink enough local whiskey to put down a full-grown elephant. 

Having decided that it probably wouldn't do for me to magically pop up in places if I were trying to pass myself off as a human, I had taken up driving as a means of transportation. I purchased a somewhat beaten up pickup truck to get me to and from town. I could have chosen something a bit more luxurious and streamlined, but the condition of the roads between my cabin and town demanded a hardy vehicle. Besides, there was something rather enjoyable about bouncing along the rutted lanes, shocks squealing and tires throwing mud down the sides of the truck. 

I caught sight of the battered truck parked a few spaces down from the front door of the clinic and made my way toward it. 

“Can I offer you a lift?” I asked Sarah.

“No thanks,” she said, nodding her head toward a blue bike chained to one of the sidewalk benches. “I’m two-wheeling it,” she told me. “Besides, my apartment is just down the street.” 

“Okay then,” I said, pulling my keys out and unlocking the driver’s side door. 

“Be careful,” Sarah called as I slid behind the wheel. 

I waved her off and cranked up the truck, grinning as it rumbled to life, a couple tons of steel and chrome vibrating under my ass cheeks. I pulled out into the street, pausing only a moment to watch in the rear-view mirror as Sarah pedaled off in the opposite direction. I didn’t head straight for home, but decided to drive around for a while to try to clear my buzzing brain. As I drove, snippets of conversations from my evening at the bar played through my head.

_ “If you’re Mayor Williams’ daughter, why is your surname Bradford?”  _

_ “Williams is my maiden name, genius,” Sarah answered playfully.  _

_ “Oh… you’re married,” I said. _

_ “Divorced,” Sarah corrected. “I guess officially now. The bastard and his lawyer should have received the paperwork last month.”  _

_ Mitzi appeared with another round of the disgusting local whiskey. “Let’s drink to that!” she cried. _

_ Sarah laughed and raised her glass. “Cheers to that rat bastard and his rat bastard lawyer. I hope both of their dicks rot off.”  _

_ “To rotting dicks!” proclaimed Mitzi before tossing back her glass.  _

_ Sarah gulped her whiskey and slammed her glass down on the counter. “I just wish I could get the last nine years of my life back,” she moaned. _

I shook my head as the truck rattled down the road. Nine years was a long time for humans. For me, it was but a blink, but for them, an eternity. Quite a long time to be unhappy. I couldn’t imagine why someone with a strong personality like Sarah would remain in a situation in which she wasn’t happy. She had no trouble holding her own against Irene. She didn’t seem to be afraid to voice her opinion. Why had she stayed?

When I asked her just that she had put her face in her hands and moaned. 

_ “God, I don’t know why I stayed so long,” she said. “I thought I loved him and I guess I was hoping he would see that and want to change.”  _

_ “But he didn’t.” _

_ “No,” she replied. “He didn’t.”  _

_ I wanted to ask more. I wanted to know how she thought her love alone could make her relationship better. She wasn’t a starry-eyed teenager. Surely she was smarter than that. _

_ “Do you dance, Doctor?” Sarah asked, derailing my train of thought. _

_ “Dance?”  _

_ “Yeah, you know, moving your body in time with the music?” _

_ “I know what dancing is.” _

_ “Then show me.” _

_ And then there was dancing. And more local whiskey. And even more dancing. And then I forgot about Sarah’s divorce and rat bastard ex-husband and even my own reason for being in the stupid human realm as I reeled around the room laughing with the crowd and singing with the jukebox. _

I looked up from the steering wheel. My truck had stopped in front of a large Victorian house a few streets over from the clinic. I recognized the mayor’s black Lexus SUV in the driveway. I wasn’t sure how I had ended up there, but I decided it would be a waste to be so close and not pay young Toby Williams a murder visit. 

As I stumbled out of my truck and onto the slick street, my mind wandered back to the bar and the conversation I’d had with Mitzi about the eponymous Constance Fisher. 

_ “That’s her broom right there,” Mitzi told me, pointing up to the gnarled broomstick hanging over the bar. “They tried to burn it after they strung her up, but legend says it wouldn’t burn.”  _

_ A reverent hush fell over the bar as we gazed up at the broomstick. That is, until Sarah broke the silence with a snort.  _

_ “That’s such bullshit, Mitz,” she laughed. “That broomstick was in the pile of junk pulled out of Mrs. Hawthorne’s storage building after she died.” _

_ Mitzi looked at her friend and jiggled her head back and forth. “And just where do you think Mrs. Hawthorne got it?” _

_ “The same place everyone gets their brooms,” scoffed Sarah, “the Lion’s Club.” _

_ Mitzi leaned over the bar and thunked Sarah on the forehead. “Nuh-uh!,” she said. “My cousin told me that her boyfriend told her that his grandma was close friends with Mrs. Hawthorne and she said that the broom had been handed down for generations, starting with Constance Fisher herself!”  _

_ Sarah rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I suppose Constance made out a will right before they put the noose around her neck,” she sneered. _

_ “Don’t make light of this, Sarah,” warned Mitzi, looking around nervously. “You know there’s supposed to be a curse on the people who executed her. There was a Williams on that list.” _

_ “Whatever,” said Sarah. “I love a good folk tale, but I’m not the superstitious type. Besides, that curse only applies to the men.” _

“So,” I said to myself as I stumbled toward the mayor’s sprawling Victorian, “The Williams family has been causing trouble for  _ otherkind  _ for quite a long time.”

I grinned at thought of young Toby Williams, snug in his bed, unsuspecting of the impending doom lurking just steps from his bedroom window. With a wave of my hand, I melted from the Williams’ driveway and reappeared beside the boy’s bed. As I had pictured, he was asleep, his snotty little face poking out of the covers, his sticky little hands clutching a stuffed bear. Lifting my hands over the boy’s reposed form, I was just about to weave a spell of asphyxiation when the child woke with a snort and looked up at me. I braced myself for the inevitable shriek and was not disappointed. 

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!” the boy screamed. I tried to cover his mouth with my hands, but he bit right through my glove and kept on yelling.

“Be quiet, you little cretin!” I commanded to no avail. A light came on in the hallway outside the boy’s door and I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. I waved my hand over my body to transport myself away from the room and the house, but to my great consternation, nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. Meanwhile, the boy was still wailing like a banshee and the footsteps were getting closer. 

Panicked, I looked around the room for a means of escape and it was then that my eyes fell on the object hanging in front of Toby Williams’ window: a ward charm. A ward charm that had been hung pointing  _ into _ the room.  _ Fuck!  _ I could transport in, but not out. I moved to yank the charm down, but the boy’s bedroom door began to open, so I did the only thing I could.

I jumped into the closet.

“Toby, what is it?” I watched from the crack in the closet door as Robert Williams burst into the bedroom. He was followed closely behind by Irene. She wore her signature lavender, but this time in a satin gown with a matching robe and fluffy slippers. A lavender sleep mask had been pulled up over her forehead. 

“Mom, Dad!” cried Toby. “The Goblin King is in my closet!” 

“Ugh,” groaned Irene. “Not this again.”

Robert Williams shook his head and sat down next to his son. “Toby,” he began, “We’ve been through this. There is no such thing as goblins or Goblin Kings or any of that fairytale stuff. They’re just stories, okay?”

Toby’s face scrunched into a pout. “The Goblin King is real and he is in my closet!” he argued.

“Robert, you have to deal with this,” chimed in Irene. “I cannot have another night without sleep. I have a meeting with the Country Club Event Planning Committee tomorrow and I cannot be seen with huge bags under my eyes!” 

“Come get in bed with us, Tobes,” said Robert. 

“But Dad,” whined Toby. 

“Enough,” Irene snapped. “You heard your father. Go get in our bed and stop all this yelling about the Goblin King.” She pointed down the hall toward what I supposed was the master bedroom. 

With a sigh, Toby pushed back his blankets and climbed out of bed. “Fine,” he told his parents, “Just don’t blame me when we all wake up as goblins.”

“Remind me to have a little chat with your daughter,” growled Irene to her husband.

“You can’t blame this all on Sarah,” countered Robert. “You know Toby has a rather vivid imagination.”

“Well, she’s certainly not helping by telling him all those scary stories about children being stolen away and turned into goblins!” Irene shot back. 

The trio turned away and moved down the hall, Irene and Robert still arguing. Toby glanced back at the closet where I was hiding and I angrily stuck out a gloved hand and gave him the finger. He answered by sticking out his tongue.  _ Little shit.  _

When they had gone I stumbled out of the closet and moved to the window where the charm hung, taunting me. I reached out for it, but it emitted a little blue jolt that stung my already injured fingers. Shaking my hand, I jumped back, alarmed. This was quite powerful magic. How could a bratty little boy like Toby Williams possess such a potent charm? 

I decided it was a question to be answered at another time. I needed to get out of there and quickly before I was discovered. Since I was unable to remove the ward that prevented my transportation spell, I would have to manually remove myself. I slowly and quietly slid the window up, careful to avoid touching the charm again. Cursing to myself about the humiliation of such a predicament, I hauled first one leg, and then another over the window sill before sliding the rest of my body over and out. I let go of the window ledge, dropping less-than-gracefully onto the ground below. 

I was still fuming as I trudged back to my truck. How was it possible for a powerful being such as myself to be thwarted by a snot-nosed human boy? I was certain that under normal, less liquor-sodden circumstances, I would have dispatched the boy without the slightest trouble. Yes, that was it. It was that god-awful local whiskey’s fault that I hadn’t managed to put an end to the Williams progeny. Well, no more. If temperance was required to rid myself of the little asshole, then I would abstain. Besides, I was almost certain there was already a hole in my liver from what I consumed earlier that evening. Stupid town with its stupid bar and its stupid local brew. 

I must have driven home at some point. I couldn’t remember. I only know that when I woke up the next morning, my mouth was full of sawdust and my head felt like it had been pounded by a sledgehammer. My alarm clock was blaring, the sound of it making my temples throb and my stomach heave. 

_ Dear gods, let me die.  _

However, I couldn’t die. I was (unfortunately in that moment) immortal. And I had a mission. I had to find my device and kill all the humans.

But first I had to go to work.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe that's not how wards work. Just suspend disbelief for a bit. You know, magic?  
> In case you're wondering, Jareth in this story is modeled after Tin Machine Bowie. Stubble and all.   
> Still looking for theories re Toby's ability to see through GK's glamour. I've left a few clues...   
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments!  
> ~Fanny~


	5. It Rhymes with Niagara

My pounding head was not prepared for the cacophony of voices and banging doors and ringing phones that greeted me as I walked down the hall of the clinic toward the exam room. Hungover, dehydrated and sleep-deprived, I was in no mood to be trifled with. The last thing I wanted was to be confronted by the likes of Irene Williams or her snot-nosed brat who had managed to thwart me the previous night. Unfortunately, as I am quickly learning in the human realm, one does not always get what one wants. 

Irene and Toby Williams were both waiting for me in the exam room. I use the term “waiting” loosely, as Irene was impatiently tapping her toe and Toby looked as if he was ready to spring out of the window. 

“You’re late,” Irene snapped as I pulled back the curtain of the exam room. 

“Five minutes,” I replied, too tired to really argue.

“My time is valuable, Doctor,” said Irene. She paused and fished a lavender compact mirror out of her purse and checked her lipstick. “As the mayor’s wife, I am a very busy woman.” She snapped the compact shut and looked at me. “I have to go across the street for a meeting with the Chairwoman of the Gardener’s Association. I should be done before you’re finished with Toby. I expect you to give him a thorough check-up.”

“You’re leaving?!” cried Toby, grabbing onto Irene’s skirt.

“Tobias Williams,” Irene scolded. “Let go of me and stop acting like a baby.”

“You can’t leave me here with  _ him _ , Mom!” Toby whined. “He’s going to turn me into a goblin!”

_ As if I need anymore foul-smelling, ale-gulping goblins to trip over. _

Irene managed to pry Toby’s fingers from her waistband and then she swished out of the room to no doubt make someone else’s day utterly miserable. 

“How are you able to see my true form?” I snarled when the boy and I were alone. 

He backed away from me, checking around the room for possible exits. Finding none, he shrugged his scrawny shoulders. “I don’t know,” he told me. “I guess I have a sonar for bullshit.”

“My magic is not bullshit,” I shot back. 

“Your magic is lame,” sneered the boy. “You couldn’t even teleport out of my bedroom last night.”

“I don’t teleport, stupid. This isn’t  _ Star Trek _ . Besides, I wouldn’t have been able to get _ in  _ if you had brains enough to hang your ward charm correctly.”

The boy looked up at me and blinked, obviously confused.

“Where did you get a charm like that, anyway?” I demanded to know. 

Toby crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his bony little chin. “I’m not telling you, dickhead,” he spat. 

“You have a very colorful vocabulary for such a young boy,” I told him as I picked up a cast saw and gave the blade a spin. “I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap and then I’m going to cut your head off.”

“If you kill me, everyone will know I was telling the truth,” said Toby. 

I paused. The kid was right.  _ Dammit! _ Until I found my device I had to maintain a low profile. I was already risking enough just being out among the humans. It certainly wouldn’t help matters if I left a blood trail. This town already had a reputation for publicly executing those of a mystical persuasion.  _ RIP, Constance.  _

“Hmph!” I grunted and buzzed the saw in his face just for good measure. 

Of course, Sarah picked that moment to breeze into the exam room.

“What in the world are you doing?” she asked, setting aside her clipboard and putting her hands on her hips.

“I was showing Toby how the cast saw works,” I told her. It wasn’t really a lie. 

“Was not!” cried Toby. “He was gonna cut off my head!”

“Oh Tobes,” laughed Sarah. “I really don’t think Dr. Jones wants to cut off your head. Besides, he wouldn’t use a cast saw for a job like that. Would you, Doctor?”

“I, uh… no,” I stammered before recovering. “Cutting off a head is a very delicate operation. It has to be done carefully. And  _ slowly _ .” I hissed out the last word while making direct eye-contact with the boy and I smiled to myself when he audibly gulped. 

Sarah took the cast saw from me and handed me a clipboard. “Here for your checkup, kiddo?” she asked her brother, patting the exam table. Toby eyed me warily, but allowed himself to be hoisted onto the table. 

“Mom’s making me,” he told his sister. “But nothing’s wrong with me.”

“I know nothing is wrong with you, Tobes,” Sarah said, gently ruffling the boy’s hair. “But it’s important to get regular checkups.” 

“Just stay in here with me, okay?” pleaded Toby.

“Of course,” Sarah answered with a bright smile. “I’ll be right here, helping Dr. Jones.”

She leaned down to adjust the exam table and Toby stuck his tongue out at me. I answered by dragging a finger across my neck. The boy scowled but said nothing else.

The rest of the exam was uneventful. I checked Toby’s eyes and ears and throat. I listened to his stupid little heart, beating strongly as if to spite me. I checked his reflexes. Twice. Once might have been sufficient, but I got a bit of a thrill out of whacking the little shit in the kneecaps. Irene swept in just as we were finishing.

“Anything wrong, Doctor?” she asked. “Other than his previous medical injury?”

“By ‘medical injury’ do you mean his Autism and hyperactive disorder? ” I asked.

“Yes,” Irene answered smugly. 

“Of course, you do,” I sighed. I was more than ready to give the infuriating woman a rather graphic piece of my mind, but Sarah jumped in before I could.

“Toby’s fine, Irene,” she said cheerfully. Irene looked at her stepdaughter and frowned. 

“No thanks to you,” she snarled. Grabbing Toby by the hand, she hustled out of the exam room and,  _ thank the gods!,  _ left the building.

“Delightful woman,” I grumbled as I made a few notes on Toby’s chart. If I were not so intent on killing the boy, I might have felt sorry for him. Irene Williams was an entitled, narcissistic bitch who deserved to be sterilized immediately. 

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Sarah asked as she pulled the used paper cover off the exam table and replaced it with a fresh one. She hummed to herself as she worked.

“How are you so perky?” I asked her. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me. 

“I guess I’m just a morning person,” she answered. “Besides, I don’t think I had nearly as much to drink as you. Did you make it home all right? You look like you slept in your truck.”

I stepped over to the sink and checked my reflection in the mirror. I had certainly looked better. My hair had been hastily combed that morning, but it was still sticking out in a few odd places. My eyes were more than a little bloodshot and my chin and upper lip were covered in stubble.

_ “I look like Dr. Gregory House!”  _ I thought a bit too proudly. 

“Do you need some coffee?” asked Sarah. “There’s a pot on in the breakroom.” 

“Tea would be more to my liking,” I replied, rubbing my eyes.

“We have no tea, Your Majesty,” Sarah said in a ridiculously bad British accent. “I wouldst happily bringeth thee a cup of coffee if thou wisheth.”

“Whatever,” I groaned. 

“Thy wish is my command,” Sarah said, sweeping down into a dramatic curtsy. I picked up a roll of paper towels intending to chuck it at her, but she danced, giggling out of the room before I had the chance. 

_ Bloody humans. _

* * *

The rest of the day dragged on. Sarah brought me a mug emblazoned with the name of a drug used to treat erectile dysfunction and I managed to choke down the coffee inside it. I tended to stomach aches and creaky knees and ingrown toenails (lovely!). I asked questions and while the patients were preoccupied with Sarah filling out paperwork, I rifled through their personal belongings. Which led me to find… nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked as we waited for the last patient of the day. Who was taking his sweet, bloody time to shuffle back to the exam room. 

“I’m fine,” I replied, unclenching my jaw. “Just tired and still a bit ruffled from your succubus of a step-mother.”

Sarah laughed. “Ignore Irene. Most people do. It’s easier to just let her have her way than to go toe-to-toe with her.”

“You don’t hold anything back on her,” I said. 

“True,” answered Sarah. “But only where Toby is concerned.”

“You care for the little bast- er, boy,” 

“Of course,” said Sarah with a shrug. “Sure, he’s just my half-brother and we didn’t exactly grow up together. I was already married by the time he was born. Still, he’s the only brother I’ve got. I’m pretty protective of him. Even if he can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

_ No shit. _

Sarah’s phone made a noise and she looked down at it and scowled. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.

“What is it?” I asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just need to take this, okay?” she answered. “Mr. Gordon is on his way back, but I’ll be in in just a minute.”

“Okay,” I called to Sarah’s retreating back. I wondered who could have been calling that had rattled her so. Her fair face had paled considerably when she read the phone screen. I wondered if maybe it was Irene calling to chew her out some more. Maybe it was an emergency call. Perhaps something terrible had happened. Maybe young Toby had been in an unfortunate accident involving a trash compactor. I grinned to myself. Maybe he’d been sucked into a wind turbine and turned into human petit fours. 

“Are you ready for me, Doc?” called a creaky voice behind me. I turned with a groan and found myself looking at a man who could not have been less than two-hundred years old. 

“Are you Mr. Gordon?” I asked the walking skin tag. 

“Yep, that’s me,” he replied. 

“Well, come along Methuselah. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“It’s like this, you see,” the old man began. “I have this new girlfriend. She’s younger than me. Only eighty-three. I’m-- uh, I’m having some trouble keeping up with her appetite, if you get my meaning.”

_ Oh. Dear. Gods.  _

“I get your meaning, Mr. Gordon, I assure you,” I groaned. “I’ll write you a prescription for--”

“No!” cried Mr. Gordon. “You can’t do that.”

“Why on earth not? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Yes, of course. But you’ve got to understand. I’m a private man and Clarice Marten down at the pharmacy is the biggest busybody you ever saw. If she knows I’m taking that little blue pill, everyone in town will know too.”

“Mr. Gordon, unless you are willing to set aside your pride and take the prescribed medicine, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you,” I told the wizened old man. 

“There’s nothing you can do here in the office?” he asked. “No special treatment? An herbal remedy, maybe?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is a clinic,” I said. “We do medicine, not magic.”

Magic. I stopped as an intriguing possibility took shape in my brain. I was only playing at being a doctor. I was actually in possession of quite powerful magic. But to use it on an old man… Was it smart? Was it ethical? I looked at the ancient fellow. He looked as if he could drop dead at any minute. His last days might as well be spent pleasurably. As for ethics, I had never taken any kind of Hippocratic Oath. 

“On second thought, Mr Gordon,” I said with a smile. “I think I do have something that will help you.” 

He left the clinic with a bottle of spelled sugar pills that would make his final days more than a little satisfying. I shook my head as I closed his file and headed to my office. Perhaps I was becoming a bit soft for these humans. It seemed counterproductive for me to help them out when I was planning on annihilating them as soon as I got a chance. 

Sarah’s muffled voice brought me out of my thoughts and I leaned in toward the break room where I could see her, partially shadowed against a wall. Her phone was pressed against her ear and she was trying her best to argue quietly. 

“No,” she told whoever was on the other end of the call. “I don’t want to talk things over. I gave you chance after chance and you fucked it up, Stephen.” 

Stephen? Ah yes, the rat bastard ex-husband. 

“Do not come here, Stephen,” Sarah growled. “It’s not going to work this time. I’m done.” 

Stephen must have said something Sarah disliked because she slammed her phone down on the break room table and leaned her head against the wall.

“Sarah,” I called and she jumped. “Is everything all right?”

“Sure. Yeah. It’s fine,” she said straightening herself and brushing a hand over her eyes. “I’m just ready to go home. It’s been a long day.”

“Go on then,” I told her. “I'll finish up here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, the orderlies have already cleaned up and all that’s left is a bit of filing,” I replied. “I’ll take care of it. You’re right. You’ve had a long day. Go home and rest.”

“Thanks so much, Dr-- I mean, Jareth,” said Sarah. She looked truly grateful. And again I wondered at my ever softening heart when it came to the squirrelly species. What good was it for Sarah to be rested? If I were to somehow find my device that night I would use it. 

I watched Sarah as she gathered her things from her locker. She was kind, but there was a darkness, even in her. I had seen glimpses of it when she interacted with Irene. And even though her motives were noble, I understood that her undercurrent of anger made her capable of great atrocities. She was as dangerous, if not more so, as the rest of them. And as soon as I found my device, she and all her kind were going to die.

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite parts of "Resident Alien" so far has been the interaction between "Harry" and his pint-sized nemesis, Max. I love the way the 9-year-old is able to so thoroughly rattle the so-called advanced species. I had to include some similar interactions between Jareth and Toby.  
> As always, comments are appreciated!  
> ~Fanny~


	6. My Kingdom as Great

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter deals with some heavier themes: manipulation, narcissistic abuse, questionable consent and miscarriage. No graphic imagery, just backstory, but be warned.

Humans have a rather delightful institution called “the weekend.” Not to be confused with that Canadian fellow who can’t feel his face. The weekend seems to consist of the two days after the work week when everyone plans to do lots of personal projects but they all ultimately end up staying in their pyjamas and binge-watching shows on Netflix. 

Perhaps I have been too zealous in my quest to fit in among the humans, for I too fell victim to the deceptive charm of the weekend. There was a break in the weather and I had every intention of getting back out into the forest to search for my device. I suspected that whoever had initially picked it up must have returned it to the forest since I had been unable to sense any trace of it among the hundreds of patients I had seen. With the snow melting somewhat, it would certainly be easier to locate. 

However, Sunday morning found me still sprawled out on my couch in my underwear watching a marathon of  _ House, M.D.  _ It wasn’t that I didn’t  _ want _ to find my device, I just wanted to finish Season 6 more. My stomach began rumbling halfway through an episode so I reluctantly turned off the television, got dressed, and drove into town. 

The town of Miracle has another delightful institution that it observes every Sunday: brunch. While the humans cherish it as a time to gather and reconnect with family and friends, I see it as a thinly-veiled excuse to start drinking at 11am. Mimosas flow freely, accompanied by trendy sandwiches piled with eggs and bacon and stacks of fluffy pancakes.

I was indulging in an order of blueberry pancakes smothered in maple syrup at the local diner when someone approached and tapped me on the shoulder. Turning, I found myself face to face with an elderly woman wearing a fuchsia tracksuit. 

“Dr. Jones?” she asked, smiling. 

I nodded since my mouth was full of pancake. 

The woman’s smile broadened as she placed two wrinkled hands over mine. 

“My name is Sylvia and I just want to thank you.”

“What for?” I asked after finally managing to swallow my mouthful of brunch. I didn’t remember having treated her for anything, though it seemed I had seen everyone in town naked by that point.

Sylvia leaned in close and I caught a whiff of her scent, stale perfume mixed with denture paste. 

“Oliver Gordon is my boyfriend,” she whispered, adding a little giggle. 

_ Lovely.  _

“Thank you,” she told me, patting my hand. “Thank you from both of us.” 

She winked before turning away and walking back to a table occupied by a group of other equally wrinkled old ladies. 

“You’re welcome,” I groaned, trying my best not to picture her and her leathery significant other engaging in amorous activities. 

I watched as she leaned into her group of ancient friends and whispered something that made them all gasp and look up at me. I gave them a little half-hearted wave while Sylvia sat back, smugly smiling. The ladies all began to chatter at once amongst themselves and I turned back to my breakfast, though my appetite had vanished. I pushed the plate away, paid the tab and made a hasty exit. 

The clinic was closed on the weekends except for emergencies, so I headed there. My office was quiet and cozy and had fairly good wifi so I could stream a few episodes of  _ House, M.D.  _ without being disturbed. Or so I thought. I had just settled in behind my desk when someone knocked on my door. 

“Jareth?” Sarah called.

“I’m rather busy,” I replied, hoping she would just go away. Instead, she stuck her head inside the door and smiled. 

“I won’t bother you,” she told me. “But let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” I replied, softening. “What are you doing here on the weekend?” 

“Same as you,” Sarah answered, nodding toward my open laptop. “Hiding out and catching up on my shows.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Are you hiding from the horny old ladies too?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “My ex-husband is in town. He wants to talk.”

“And I take it you do not wish to talk to him.”

Sarah shook her head before striding in uninvited and plopping down in the chair in front of my desk. “I’m done talking to him,” she sighed. “I spent my whole marriage trying to reason with him, bargain with him. He wouldn’t listen, so I’m finished.”

“It sounds as if--” I was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of the outside intercom buzzing and someone banging on the front door. 

“That’s probably him,” Sarah gasped, paling considerably. “Please Jareth,” she began, leaning forward with pleading eyes. “Would you go out there and tell him I’m not here. I just can’t deal with him right now. Please?”

I’m a benevolent being, though some might argue with that assessment. I dislike seeing helpless creatures in distress. While I doubt Sarah was actually helpless, she was so pitiful, looking up at me with those deep green eyes and pouty pink lips, I couldn’t refuse to assist her. 

She stayed tucked back in my office while I made my way to the front door to deal with her persistent former spouse. Through the glass of the door I could see a tall, well-dressed gentleman who appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties. He was clean-cut and graying around his temples, hardly what I had expected. I suppose I somehow thought Sarah’s ex would look a bit more like an extra from  _ Sons of Anarchy  _ rather than a successful-but-boring insurance salesman.

I unlocked and opened the door and addressed the gentleman on the sidewalk. “Do you have a medical emergency?” I asked politely.

“No,” answered the man, rolling his eyes, “I just want to talk to my wife.”

“Your wife?” I questioned, put off by his overt rudeness. 

“Sarah,” huffed the man. “She’s not at home. She must be here.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” I told him, keeping my voice in check. “We’re closed on the weekend except for emergencies. Sarah is not in today.” 

The man stepped back, sizing me up. I crossed my arms over my chest, making it clear I would not be easily budged. 

“Who are you, anyway?” he asked.

“I’m Dr. Jareth Jones,” I told him. “If you wish to leave a message for Sarah, I’ll see that she gets it when she comes in. Tomorrow.”

“Yes, do that,” grunted the rude man. “Tell her that Stephen came by. Tell her she is  _ going _ to talk to me.”

“I’ll give her your message,” I said, managing a smile. I stepped back into the clinic and closed the door and watched as Stephen Bradford paced the sidewalk for a few moments before giving up and disappearing around the corner. When he had gone I returned to my office to find Sarah waiting at the door.

“Stephen wanted me to tell you--”

“I heard,” Sarah interrupted . She lifted a hand to her forehead and sighed. “I thought this would be over when I signed the divorce papers. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Where on Earth did you find such a charming fellow?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. Sarah shook her head and moved back to her chair and sat down.

“It’s so stupid,” she said glumly. “I was so naive…” She paused, obviously hesitant to continue. I closed the door behind me and sat down at my desk to make her feel more at ease. 

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Stephen worked with my dad years ago when they were first starting out. They had been buddies at law school and opened a firm together. He started coming around a lot when I was a teenager since he and dad were partners. He ate dinner at our house a lot of the time.” She paused again and seemed to slip into a moment of reverie before going on.

“I was having a rough time. Dad and Irene had just gotten married and she made no secret of her dislike for me. Dad was oblivious and I felt very alone. Stephen was… nice to me. I could talk to him openly about all of it and he was attentive and supportive. At first, he was just like a sweet, indulgent uncle who listened to my complaints. Over time though, our relationship... changed.”

Sarah got up and went to the window and peered out through the blinds, checking the street for signs of her former husband. 

“I was barely nineteen when Stephen and I became romantically involved. I hadn’t really dated much at that point and I’d never-- um…” 

I could see the tops of Sarah’s ears turning pink, even though her back was to me. 

“Let’s just say that Stephen was the first man I was ever with,” she mumbled, embarrassed. 

She gave a little empty chuckle before returning to her chair and sinking listlessly into it. 

“I thought I was so grown up,” she told me. “He was old enough to be my dad, but he was handsome and successful. I was madly in love with him. Of course, my dad didn’t know anything about it. That is, until I found out I was pregnant.”

I must have leaned forward in my chair because Sarah looked up at me and her eyes grew wide. 

“Oh god,” she moaned, putting her face in her hands. “I sound so pathetic! Anyone who’s ever watched a  _ Lifetime  _ Movie of the Week could have seen it all coming!”

“You were young, Sarah. And innocent,” I told her. “He took advantage of those things and preyed on you.”

My stomach knotted in on itself at the thought of that smooth-talking lawyer charming the naive girl into his bed. 

“I knew what I was doing,” Sarah answered. “At least I thought I did. I loved him and wanted to marry him. He said he loved me. And when Dad insisted that he marry me, he didn’t hesitate. I was still stupidly convinced that I was on my way to Happily-Ever-After. I was escaping from my evil-stepmother to marry my white knight and start our own family.”

Sarah paused again and fell deathly quiet and I got the sense that what followed had been less than a fairytale. 

“You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t wish to,” I said gently, but she shook her head.

“I need to get this out,” she replied. “Everything was great with us for a while. We had the big wedding and romantic honeymoon and then settled into what I thought would be the ideal domestic life. But I-- I had a miscarriage. At six months. I was devastated. Stephen… Stephen was furious. He raged that he had married me for nothing. I asked him if he wanted a divorce, but he said no. He was afraid my Dad would dissolve their partnership, which was rather lucrative.”

_ The absolute bastard!  _

“I tried to carry on as if everything was fine,” Sarah continued, her voice breaking. A tear slid down her cheek. “As far as anyone knew we were the perfect couple. No one knew what was really happening, or if they did, they ignored it.”

“Did he physically hurt you?” I asked, anger welling up in my breast. 

“No,” Sarah answered. “But words are sometimes more hurtful than fists. Stephen made me think it was all my fault. He made me feel worthless. He seemed to live on my pain. It made him feel powerful.”

“But you were able to break away,” I offered. 

Sarah nodded. “I remembered a story my mom used to read me when I was a kid. It was about a young girl who made a foolish wish and had to go up against a magical king to get back what he had taken from her. He manipulated her and everything around her, but she saw through it and beat him at his own game. At the end, she told him, ‘You have no power over me.’ That resonated with me somehow.”

I sat back in my chair, a sick feeling rising up in my core.  _ That story… _

“I reclaimed my power,” Sarah told me, jumping up from her chair, “And I refuse to ever let him have power over me again.” 

“G-good,” I managed to croak. I looked at the young woman. As pained and upset as she had been while recounting her story, she looked resolute now. Determined. 

“Thank you, Jareth,” she said, giving me a small smile. “Talking to you has really helped.”

“But, I didn’t really do anything,” I told her.

She leaned down and put her hand on top of mine. “You listened,” she said. “And you let me talk it through and remember what brought me to where I am. So thanks.”

“Um, you’re welcome,” I answered. 

Sarah smiled brightly and moved toward the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To have it out once and for all with that douche-bag,” she answered. “I’m not a naive nineteen-year-old anymore and I’ve had enough of his bullshit.”

I scrambled up from my desk.

“Be careful,” I blurted. Men like Stephen Bradford were crafty, dangerous. They did not like to lose. 

“I’ll be okay,” Sarah told me. “I’m going to talk to my dad first. Tell him everything. I know he’ll help me deal with this.”

I wasn’t sure that pencil-pushing Robert Williams was much of a match for a slick character like Stephen Bradford, but it wasn’t up to me to question Sarah’s judgment. She knew her situation better than I. 

I stayed in my office for a long time after she had gone. Her story haunted me. Not just because of the desperation of the position she had been in, but the catalyst for her escape. She reclaimed her power from the man who stole something precious from her. Not a baby brother, but her innocence and her personal identity. He took the last carefree days of her childhood and then manipulated her. My stomach lurched. I hated that man. I hated him for using her and abusing her and finding power in her pain. I hated him because I knew him all too well. I saw him in the mirror every morning.

I slammed my fists down on the desk, breaking myself from my spiraling dark thoughts. 

_ “This is not who you are. This is not why you are here,”  _ I chided myself. _ “Don’t let them project their skewed human morality onto you. You are not one of them!” _

I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. Sarah and her ex were no real concern of mine. None of them were. My only concern was exterminating them. Their influence was insidious. I found it worming its way into my immortal soul. They could not be allowed to live. I swept out of my office and out to my truck, more determined than ever to find my device. Once I located it, I would destroy the humans once for all.

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter veered into some dark territory. It was important to the overall plot though. Next chapters will go back to more darkly-tinged humor.   
> If anyone is watching the show and is interested, I have posted my first "Resident Alien" story. It's a bit of fun fluff, but I hope you'll enjoy it.   
> Let me know what you think and feel free to post any questions you have in the comments.   
> Thanks!  
> ~Fanny~

**Author's Note:**

> I have more than one WIP currently, but this little plotbunny grabbed on to me and would not let go. If you haven't watched "Resident Alien," what are you waiting for? If you have, what do you think? Love? Hate? Neutral? Can we all just agree that Alan Tudyk is one of the most criminally underrated actors out there? Give me thoughts in the comments!


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